Fractured
by soopergirl35
Summary: Femme/teen!lock with the whole cast, not trying to write a reverse Elementary here, just because I am a teenage girl and I thought it would be fun to explore Sherlock and John (Jean) at a younger age in a different gender. Teen angst will abound, as will quotes from the series, and will possibly be a bit cracky at times. Rated T because of Sherlock and her stupid drugs.
1. Chapter 1

I tap the mirror. "Is this working? Is it on?" I glance around. Good; I'm alone. I'm in the process of moving out of my parents' flat, but it's been proving a bit difficult. "Look, if anyone can hear me, I need help. Doctor, this means you." My hair falls over my shoulder and I impatiently tuck it behind my ear. My head is about half a metre above the top of the mirror, so I have to bend over. "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Come at once." As an afterthought I add, "If convenient." Well... "If inconvenient, come anyway." I hear a knock and shoot a look down the hall. "Could be dangerous."

The mirror shivers as the elusive connection apparently breaks. I straighten up and run to the door. The taxi is there, waiting for me. I grab my few bags and run.

* * *

**This is just an experiment to see whether the stuff I come up with at three in the morning is actually not too bad. I don't know. I saw this mirror in my basement and decided to bend over and give it a monologue from my favourite shows, then thought "Hey that wasn't too bad! Maybe just add some more so that it makes sense and you're golden!" Anywho, read, review, PM me with questions, and all that jazz. I should probably get to sleep.**


	2. Chapter 2

The school bell rings as I finish scooping up my books and I am snatched by the crush of students shoving out the door. Caught in this tidal wave of people, a lot of them bump into me. I scowl and try to keep moving in the right direction.

In my next class, my assigned lab partner Michelle Stamford (a bit round, suffers from mild anxiety and uses food as an outlet, fits the stereotypes of "nerd" and "geek") starts asking me what it's like to live alone. I tell her simply that Mycroft just moved out, and seeing as I've always been more mature than my sister I decided that I could leave home too. I mention to her that I'm looking for a flatmate. I doubt anything will come of it. There are two girls living below me in 221C, and despite their frequent obsessions and pterodactyl screeches for absolutely no reason that I can see, they make me feel a bit lonely. Someone who won't mind me retreating into my head for hours if not days, not to mention the violin playing and experiments, will be a tall order.

At long last, I reach my flat at the end of the day. I throw my bag, flop down on the couch, and look deploringly at the skull on the mantel. "What am I going to do? I need help with this. Why won't anybody help me?" Bella just leered back at me. I named the skull Bella for...sentimental reasons.

I stand up quickly, running my hands through my hair and sighing. When I see my face in the spotless mirror above the mantel, I hardly recognise myself. There are hollows under my cheekbones, more pronounced than usual, and deep shadows under my eyes. I let my curls fall and raise a hand to swipe the mirror off the wall and relish the feeling of shattering glass, breaking the only link between my assistance and I.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I spin around, mouth agape at the sound of the familiar voice. I inhale hair and spit it out frustratedly. "Doctor!" I exclaim once I've got my breath back. "It's been months since I sent you my missive. Last time you promised me you would be prompt."

He raises his hands. "It's only been mere minutes for me. I'm still testing out the new-"

"Spare me the usual. 'I'm a time-traveller and I arrived as soon as I could, it's hard to get exact dates right, the new TARDIS console needs breaking in-'" I mimic. "I don't care. You owe me a favour, why weren't you here sooner?"

He shrugs apologetically. I growl and turn away, towards the windows. A siren wails in the distance.

"I could be helping them," I murmur to myself.

I feel the Doctor move towards me, a tall, dark presence. He wisely doesn't touch me, as if he knows as well as I do that the fact he is here is comfort enough. "You know they won't listen to you. You've been trying since you were eight..."

I cross my arms. "Carly Powers was hardly difficult. And I should have known that they wouldn't believe a mere child had shown them up. But I am fifteen now, _fifteen_!"

I release my callous, sullen veneer and practically collapse. The Doctor helps me to the couch and I let my usual dammed emotions flow, just a bit.

"I didn't know if you'd ever come for me," I say thickly. My throat is starting to stick, full of tears, but I swallow hard and keep them at bay.

"I promised that I would. And I don't break my promises."

"Rule number one: The Doctor lies," I remind him.

"I have got to tell River to stop telling people that." The Doctor sighs and props his feet up. "So what is this ever-mysterious, pressing dilemma?"

Words tumble out of my mouth in a rush, pent-up emotion and fears spilling into the open. I always refuse to admit that anything is wrong with me. My mind is too strong to fail. But then again, even the strong get sick. "I am so lost. I've been retreating into my head more and more, and it feels like I have a different face...a different front for everyone I talk to."

"Most everyone is like that," the Doctor says. "You've always been like that, it's never worried you before. Why come to me now?"

I sigh and continue. "I've been seeing impossible things. Premonitions, which are rare enough to begin with and usually frauds, but you know I would never lie about something like this...For the first time ever I want to run, leave and keep going until I don't recognise anyone and I can start again, and I've been really anxious and upset and antisocial and I am scared that I'm becoming depressed..." I stand up quickly and show the Doctor my hidden compartment in the table, full of cigarettes. Mr. Hudson doesn't like it when I smoke indoors, but it's been months. I can't stop. The Doctor sucks in a quick breath.

"There isn't anyone else I can turn to for help. Nobody else will understand, they will just shrug it off or make fun." I sigh again. This is so hard for me, to confide in anyone at all. If the Doctor hadn't come when he did...I shudder to think. "I am trying to hard to avoid this, it is so painful, I just have this general sense of being useless and not good enough and no matter what anybody tells me I still feel wrong and stupid and I am legitimately scared that I am going insane." My voice breaks and I lower it to a whisper. "Please. I need your help."

* * *

**So Sherlock's problem is finally known, and we also now know why she moved to 221B in the first place! This also explains why she turned to drugs, and soon somebody will be there to help...anyway. Didn't want this to get all deep and character-studyish so fast, but I had to write SOMETHING...more soon, hopefully!**

**ANYwho, happy reading. x**


	3. Chapter 3

Michelle does not show up for our science class, naturally on a day that we need to do a lab. I would be upset, but I always wind up doing the whole thing by myself anyway.

I scan the lab paper quickly. So simple. I had proven this by an experiment of my own design when I was six. I already have the lab set up my way and have begun testing when Michelle walks in, a girl following a bit behind her with crutches.

"Bit different from back home," the new girl says. I can hear the smirk in Michelle's voice as she answers.

"You have no idea."

I had looked up briefly to see who it was, then gone back to focusing on the silly lab. "Michelle, can I borrow your phone? No signal on mine."

Michelle sighs but searches through her pockets. She only comes up with a coin and a sweet wrapper.

"Sorry. It's in my coat," she says.

Jean fishes around in her jacket pocket and takes out her phone. "Oh, here. Use mine."

I stand as she hops towards me, phone out. I take it before she can trip and break it. "Oh. Thank you," I say. No smile, a smile won't be necessary here.

"She's a new mate of mine, Jean Watson," Michelle announces.

I nod by way of a greeting and sit down again with my back to them. "Soccer or track?" I ask.

Jean smiles awkwardly, bewildered by the question. Unexpected then. She really doesn't know me, the "crazy girl". That's a new one.

"Track. Sorry, how did you know...?" Jean asks.

I type out a quick text and keep experimenting. As Jean stares at me, quite confused, I put the beaker in my hand down. "How do you feel about the violin?"

Jean tears her eyes away from the experiment. Apparently it's fascinating to her. "I'm sorry, what?"

I resume dripping the solution on the dish. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." I glance at Jean. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

Jean looks to Michelle. "Oh, you told her about me?"

Michelle smirks. "Not a word."

Jean turns back to me. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

I finally pause what I'm doing and push back my stupid goggles. "I did. I told Michelle yesterday that I must be a difficult person to find a flatmate for. Now here she is after lunch with an new friend clearly back here after track. Wasn't a difficult leap."

"But how did you know about track?" Jean asks.

I ignore the question and lean over to check the time. The bell is about to ring. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together with my sister's help we could afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock."

Jean throws a disbelieving look at Michelle and then turns towards me. I start packing up my bag.

"Is that it?"

I stop and look up at her. "Is that what?"

"We've just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" Jean says. Oh, that's right, she might not be ready to move in right away. Clearly she will at some point, otherwise she wouldn't have given my proposition a second thought. She mentioned something about "back home"...exchange student from somewhere? Her accent is perfectly sound...I leave it to puzzle out on another day. She'll still need a place to stay.

"Problem?" I say.

Jean tosses another look at Michelle, who has turned away in an effort not to laugh. Jean turns back towards me and says, "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know your name; I don't even know where we're meeting."

I raise my gaze for a moment and grin to myself. At last I can show off. "I know you're quite athletic and have recently been invalided from the track team. I know you've got a brother with a bit of money who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his girlfriend."

Jean stares at me in surprise. Behind her, Michelle loses it and starts to giggle, a smug smile on her face. I've deduced her before, and she has seen me deduce several others in a similar manner.

"And I know your physical therapist thinks your injury is mostly psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid," I continue, smiling very briefly. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

The bell bursts in, drowning out any further words. I turn and walk towards the door, but then come back and lean around the doorframe, remembering something.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." I wink at Jean, and just for effect I throw in a quick, "Afternoon," at Michelle. Then I allow myself to be torn away by the human river waiting outside.

Jean turns and looks at Michelle in disbelief. Michelle smiles and nods to her.

"Yeah. She's always like that." Michelle keeps grinning and heads for the door. Jean continues looking at the door, looking confused. Michelle shakes her head and helps Jean into the hallway.

•*•*•

"Psychic readings! Cheap psychic readings!" a woman shouts. Jean tries to hobble by, move on past her and the next stalls, but the woman catches hold of her arm. Jean tries to shake her off, to no avail. And this wasn't supposed to be the bad part of town...

"Free reading for the pretty young lady," she says. "Always a free reading for the injured."

Jean scowls at her leg, but allows the woman to lead her into the tent. The woman throws her shawls around dramatically before settling in a chair and snatching one of Jean's hands. Jean shudders as the woman's hands, icy cold and with too-long fingernails, envelop her own.

"I see something great in your future..." the woman breathes. "Yes, with someone you have only just met..."

Jean's mind jumps immediately to Sherlock. She did need somewhere to live, after all.

The woman's hands tighten and Jean gasps slightly. The woman starts to hiss.

"What're you-" Jean begins. She is sucked backwards into a memory.

_Jean is walking along a path, relying quite heavily on her crutches. It can be assumed she's on the way to school. Michelle runs up next to her, coat flapping._

_"Jean! Jean Watson! I haven't seen you in years!" Jean looks at her, confused. "Michelle. Michelle Stamford. Our mums were the best of friends before we moved away."_

_"Oh, yes, sorry, yes, Michelle," Jean stammers awkwardly. "Hello."_

_"I heard you were at some fancy boarding school. What happened?" Michelle asks._

_Jean gestures to her leg. "Got this."_

_"Ah, well. Staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?" Michelle continues._

_Sick of the questioning, Jean responds curtly. "Can't afford London on a loan."_

_"Well, I dunno. You could get yourself a flatmate or something," Michelle says. Maybe in an effort to be helpful, but it was really just annoying at that point._

_"Who'd want me for a flatmate?" Jean spits out bitterly. Michelle chuckles thoughtfully. "What?" Jean asks._

_"Oh, nothing. I just remembered a funny line from something I watched last night." Michelle looks up from her feet as she drifts behind Jean. Her eyes grow wide and she lets out an involuntary squeak._

_"What? What is it?" Jean spins around._

_Michelle tries to look a bit less scared, but she can't help attempting to get a better glance at Jean. "Nothing. I just...I thought I saw something on your back._

* * *

**How exciting! They've met at last! Only they haven't, basically LOL jk, I've been taking trolling lessons from Moffat. XD A BIGBIGBIGBIG thank-you to . , I used this transcript for lines and I would have died a thousand miserable deaths without this. Seriously this chapter would have been so hard to write without the script. So credits to you, lovely person! Um...I'm definitely feeling LOADS better than I did when I wrote the last chapter (hence the sort-of happier this chapter), but next week I will be bunkering down for *cue scary music* FINALS WEEK! *dun dun dun DUN*...so nothing new. SORRY! But I can't fail school. 'Kay I should not be up this late. Heh...LATERZ!**


	4. Chapter 4

Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, but I hold them back. "Something has happened. I don't know how, but I can feel it. Something is just wrong. I...I've never felt like this before, and I am legitimately scared that I am going insane." My voice breaks and I lower it to a whisper. "Please. I need your help."

The Doctor leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You said premonitions." I nod and blink hard. "What have you seen?"

"Um..." My voice is horribly thick. "Just a girl. A girl hobbling down the street, and then everything changes. I don't know. It hurts, so much, just to even think about." I press my hands against my head, glad of their coolness and the excuse to close my stinging eyes.

"Well, Sherlock, I think you may be psychic. I'll go take a look with the TARDIS," the Doctor says. Then he stands, all knees and elbows, and looks me dead in the eye. "I will figure this out for you, Sherlock. You don't deserve to feel like this." Then he turns and disappears out the door in his usual over-dramatic fashion.

Something inside of my chest twists. This always happens. I pour my heart out to someone and they leave. Sure, he'll "help me", but he left. All I wanted was someone to unconditionally support me and just be there, physically, for me.

I hear loud music followed by shrieks and hurriedly muffled laughter from downstairs. I open the window and light a cigarette with shaking fingers and take long drags off it. The familiar bitter taste and feel of it ease the pain a bit. I only tried these things in the first place to make my brain sharper. So much for that. I just feel broken inside. People say it's all part of being a teenager. But then they make a point of how exceptional I am, how wonderfully smart and unemotional. If I have no emotions then what is there to go haywire like this? What is there, left inside of me, to break?

I glance at the knife I stuck in the wall so long ago. Then I shake my head vigorously and take another pull on the cigarette, down to the filter. Not tonight. The Doctor will come back, and if he doesn't take me with him then we'll see.

So I go to school, as boring as ever. I haven't done my homework because I was experimenting with blisters. Oh, don't look at me like that.

Michelle is there, mentions something about someone-but I'm hardly listening. She sets up the lab and completes it easily within the period, and we both leave.

I walk into my flat. "Hello, Mycroft." Footprints in the hall that Mr. Hudson hasn't cleared yet, a hat on the pointless rack I never use, and that stupid umbrella-dagger, leaned up against my couch. And, of course, my sister perched in a chair, back to the door.

"Sherlock," she says without turning around. She always did have a flair for the dramatic.

I sling my bag to the floor and walk over to the chair opposite Mycroft. "What do you want?"

"Just because I'm here, you think I want something from you?" She laughs. I narrow my eyes and wait.

"All right, look." Mycroft ignores my smirk. "I just wanted to check on you. I haven't heard from you much, and I just..." She glances down at my ankles, the blood and the torn skin. "What have you been doing?"

"It was just an experiment-"

"You know you shouldn't experiment on yourself, Sherlock, it's not healthy-"

"And how are you going to stop me?" I am on my feet now, shouting. I don't remember standing. "It's not like you're Mum or Dad-"

"No, I'm not." Mycroft is scarily calm. "Because you left them. You chose to leave them both, and you know how they are now. Mum can barely keep her head on, and-"

"Does it matter? They barely even noticed me, my bad marks, my experimenting! I was nothing compared to the government-destined big sister, I was always just a freak with a violin!" I take a deep breath and manage to stop screaming. "I pretend to let it all blow away, to not listen to any of it, but it really, really hurts. I can't take much more of this."

Mycroft is standing now too. She puts a hand on my shoulder, brushing my hair out of my eyes the way she did when I was younger. "I'll keep paying for the apartment. Don't do anything rash, okay?" She says it with such understanding in her eyes that I nod in spite of myself. She gives my shoulder one last pat, retrieves her things, and goes.

All the breath goes out of me and I collapse like a balloon. That was a disaster. I didn't mean to yell at Mycroft, and I definitely overreacted. I go to the mirror and ponder the knife again. No, I tell myself. Give him one last chance.

"Doctor..." I begin. I hear the familiar whooshing noise of the TARDIS and I spin to see him pull the door open.

"Sherlock," he says. "I need you to come with me."

My eyes widen with disbelief and I sprint to the TARDIS.

* * *

**Okay, so I should really be updating my other stories more often, but I found this and remembered that I hadn't posted it yet! It is sort of filler-ish, so sorry bout that, but it is going somewhere good! I promise! This is still just post-finals-week-brain-clog, and also the result of trying to get something done while on holiday and being rather busy. Enjoy and happy reading! :)**


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